


such a thing as too sweet

by seventhstar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Katsuki Yuuri, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Omega Victor Nikiforov, Sort Of, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24501649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: “Would I snitch on you? Please. Bros before filial piety. Is Viktor your date for tonight?”“What date?”“You RSVPed plus one. Mom was thrilled.”“I don’t have a date. I’m—I’m not dating.” Yuuri is telling the truth so why, he wonders, do I always sound like I’m lying?“What, did he kill someone?”“What? No!” All Viktor’s killed is Yuuri’s hopes and dreams, no big deal. “Why would I date a murderer?”“Why else would you be scared to tell Mom and Dad? I mean, they gave birth to you, their standards aren’t that high.”“We’re…not exactly dating anymore,” Yuuri hedges. Maybe Mari will take pity on him and change the subject.“Tell me you didn’t get married on the sly. We agreed you and Phichit wouldn’t take any more business trips to Vegas.”Yuuri resents that. It was one time. He only took off most of his clothes. And he wouldn’t take Viktor to Vegas to elope, he’d take him somewhere actually nice. If they were eloping, which they aren’t. Because their relationship was financial and now they don’t have one, which is exactly why Yuuri wants to be sure his family and Viktor never meet.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 36
Kudos: 547





	such a thing as too sweet

**Author's Note:**

> god i don't even know. i'm just posting this bc i like the bit about gender reveal parties.

The whole thing is actually Cao Bin’s fault.

Cao Bin is the one who insists Yuuri come to the Triumphant Hotel’s opening gala, even though Yuuri has been designing the interior for six months and would happy to never set foot in it again. Cao Bin is the one who takes one look at Yuuri’s dour expression and starts handing him flutes of champagne. And Cao Bin is the one who tells Yuuri that the incredibly attractive blonde omega accompanying one of the bigwigs attending the gala is a sugar baby and recommends Yuuri go hire him.

(Yuuri will admit that giving Hot Blonde his whole wallet was Drunk Yuuri’s doing.)

Hot Blonde is named Viktor, as Yuuri discovers the next morning when he types his name into Seeking Arrangements dot com. What Yuuri plans to do is to meet him for dinner, retrieve his wallet and apologize for wasting his time.

What happens is that he and Viktor meet for dinner and end up sitting in the restaurant for three hours. What happens is that Viktor admits that he thinks Yuuri’s tie is dreadful and they exchange pictures of their poodles and Yuuri ends up taking Viktor to the Triumphant at two in the morning to see the rooftop patio attached to the honeymoon suite, because out of all the things in the Triumphant he designed, that’s his favorite.

It’s Cao Bin’s fault that all of that happens.

But Yuuri, in a fit of stupidity, offering to be Viktor’s sugar daddy? Yuuri would like that to be Cao Bin’s fault, but he knows himself too well. That one’s _all_ him.

* * *

Viktor hasn’t sewn anything in a long time.

He’s not sure when he stopped. The grey, foggy semester where he dropped out of school melts into the months of heavy panic over student loans blurs into the last year and a half of sugaring, like a poorly sorted load of laundry that went in red and white and has come out pink.

“Do you like it?” Yuuri asks.

“It’s beautiful.”

The air in Barcelona is crisp; the moon’s reflection ripples on the surface of the Mediterranean.

Viktor knows how to be a mirror, showing people whatever it is they want to see. But Viktor, after two months, has no idea what Yuuri wants him to say—has no idea what Yuuri is getting from him.

It’s not sex. It’s not flattery, because Yuuri doesn’t take compliments well. It’s not the ego boost of having a pretty omega on his arm, because Yuuri never shows him off. It’s clearly not to flaunt his wealth; Yuuri does an excellent impression of a turtle hiding in its shell whenever the subject of money comes up. Lying beside Yuuri on the terrace, the cool wind carrying Yuuri’s scent, Viktor feels adrift. As if he’s taken off a mask and his face has come off with it.

“Do you want to go sightseeing tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Viktor says.

“I’ve never really seen Barcelona before.”

“Really? Don’t you come here often?”

“I do, but…” Yuuri shrugs. “When I’m working, I just end up staying in my hotel all the time.”

Yuuri smells good. Viktor has half-heartedly tried not to be aware of this, but it’s impossible.

“Well, we can’t have that.”

“I think it went okay today,” Yuuri says softly. He doesn’t like giving presentations, Viktor has discovered. The only thing Yuuri has asked him for, other than his company on a series of very pleasant dates, is Viktor to watch him rehearse his presentation a few times prior to this morning’s meeting.

(Viktor had asked Yuuri why he thought Viktor’s feedback would be of any use; Yuuri had blushed and mumbled something that sounded like ‘you make me nervous’.)

“Did you wear the tie?”

Viktor can practically hear Yuuri rolling his eyes. “I wore it,” he confirms, as thought Viktor hadn’t knotted it for him this morning. “Where’d you get it?”

“Hmm?”

“Someone asked me where it was from, but there’s no tag or anything.”

Viktor used to put his logo on things he made. He’d wanted to put it on the tie, but not out of professional pride, just for the pleasure of it—of his name around Yuuri’s neck, of slaking a possessiveness Viktor has no right to feel.

“I made it.”

“Oh.” Viktor hears Yuuri swallow. “Thanks.”

He says nothing else. Viktor closes his eyes; Yuuri’s scent has very slightly shifted over the past few days, enough for Viktor to be able to tell he’s going into rut. It’s a subtle thing; so subtle that only someone very close to Yuuri would notice—like a friend, or a family member, or a lover…

Viktor hasn’t stopped his suppressants in years; lonely heats depress him. He wonders if Yuuri is lonely, or if he hires someone to get through his ruts. He wonders if Yuuri noticed his scent lingered on the tie more than it should have.

“Is that what you’re always drawing?”

Viktor thinks of the sketchbook he’s taken to carrying again, of the designs he’d done with more haste than skill after the gala at the Triumphant, of the way all his faceless drawings now wear square glasses and small smiles. The stars above are bright; the world seems to have come into sharp contrast, into bright color.

It’s disconcerting, to play this role without any lines. He knows it’s impossible for it to lead anywhere. He still can’t help but hope for more.

* * *

Heat softens all the harsh edges of being rutted.

But Viktor isn’t in heat, and he feels everything.

Yuuri in rut is quiet, and relentless, and tender. He keeps Viktor in the makeshift nest, pressed into the sheets, kissing Viktor lazily on the mouth while he fucks him. He smooths Viktor’s hair away his face with his fingers whenever it falls over his eyes.

“Wanna see you,” Yuuri says, nose touching Viktor’s cheek, voice slurred with pleasure. “Viktor. Look at me.”

Viktor looks at him. He’s trembling, he’s aware; his skin is tingling everywhere. The suppressants can stop him from going into heat, but they can’t erase the effect of Yuuri’s rut pheromones entirely. Viktor’s never been so wet, so well-fucked, so exhausted in his life. He’s always known Yuuri was strong, but this is something else entirely, the way Yuuri can fold him in half and fuck him until he cries.

“I’m looking,” Viktor croaks. His voice has cracked, probably because he’s been screaming. Yuuri reaches for the bottle of water lying nearby and holds it to his lips.

“Look more,” Yuuri says firmly. He tips the water into Viktor’s mouth.

Viktor swallows obediently.

“All right,” Yuuri murmurs. “All right. Shh.” He tugs Viktor’s thighs apart again. Viktor feels his cock brush against the swollen lips of his cunt and groans. He whimpers. He’s not sure he can take it again, as much as he wants to; Yuuri’s been fucking him for so long. He’s been knotted so many times he’s lost track. A little slick trickles out of him. Yuuri’s cock pushes in, just a little, and Viktor bites his lip too hard.

“I can’t…”

Yuuri stills immediately. He lies on top of Viktor, his breath warm on Viktor’s face, and reaches for Viktor’s hand. Their fingers intertwined, Viktor lies there, staring at the ceiling, acutely aware of his own heavy breathing, of Yuuri’s sweaty palm against his own. He has control, he thinks, of whether this happens or not, and yet he’s so desperate for it that he has no control at all.

“Okay,” he whispers.

The air is thick in Viktor’s lungs as Yuuri trails a hand over the inside of Viktor’s thigh; the pounding of his pulse is hard even as Yuuri’s soft touch slides down the open cleft of his cunt and then lower to press against his ass. Slick has dripped down there. Yuuri applies a little pressure.

Viktor’s heart is in his throat as he nods.

He’s past the point where there’s any pain; just the pressure and the pleasure of it, Yuuri’s hands behind his knees holding him open while he fucks Viktor’s ass. He lies there completely limp, slick dripping out of him and running down, gripping the sheets beneath him until his hands hurt. Yuuri fucks him slowly, steadily. He almost hates Yuuri, in this moment, because Viktor’s always told himself pleasure doesn’t matter. It doesn’t affect him.

Yuuri affects him. The look on his face, the intensity in his eyes as he watches Viktor fall apart beneath him, that’s too much.

“Fuck me,” Viktor says. _Love me,_ Viktor thinks.

“I got you.”

Yuuri pinches Viktor’s clit with fingers wet from fingering Viktor so many times. It’s as if he’s touched Viktor’s cunt with a live wire—Viktor feels himself clench around nothing, every nerve in his body singing.

“Not so hard,” Viktor whimpers. Yuuri eases up, his fingertips feather light over Viktor’s skin. His knot starts to swell—Yuuri digs his fingers into the meat of his thighs as he forces it in—and Viktor knows he should say no. “Yes—Yuuri—Yuuri—”

“Shh,” Yuuri whispers. He says something more to Viktor, something sweet with praise, but his fingers are flicking Viktor’s clit again and he’s knotted deep inside and Viktor’s entire body has been reduced down to something animal and raw and there’s nothing left but to come, again, Yuuri’s name on his lips, clutching the ruined sheets that Viktor brought from home, knowing long after this night is over their scents will remain.

* * *

When Viktor finally wakes up, he’s acquired an affectionate toy poodle, a leaden exhaustion, and several new kinks. He pets Vicchan absently and wonders if he has the strength to actually get out of bed. His aching ass says ‘hot bath’ (why had Viktor let Yuuri knot him there?) but his aching heart says ‘keep nesting until your alpha comes back’.

Viktor groans. His heart is not helping. Neither is the fact that everything, Viktor included, now smells like Yuuri.

“You’re awake.”

Yuuri appears in the doorway with a plate of toast. As he sits down behind Viktor on the bed, Viktor accepts the toast and digs in immediately. He hasn’t eaten in what feels like years, though it’s probably only been a few hours. (He remembers Yuuri hand feeding him and blushes.)

“You okay?”

“Just tired,” Viktor says.

“Listen,” Yuuri says. He puts his arm over Viktor’s shoulders. His scent hasn’t quite returned to normal; it still has the spicy edge of a rut in it. Viktor resists the urge to put his nose against his neck and inhale. “I’ve been thinking. What we’re doing isn’t working for me anymore.”

“Oh.”

“I know it’s not what we agreed on,” Yuuri begins, “but maybe we could—”

“I’m tired,” Viktor says. If Yuuri actually breaks up with him, here and now, while Viktor’s still sore from being knotted by him all night, with Yuuri’s arm around him like he cares, Viktor will either die or commit a murder. He glances at Yuuri, who looks like he’s trying to hide a smile. Definitely murder, Viktor thinks. “Let’s talk about this later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Yuuri leaves him alone. Viktor doesn’t even finish his toast; the moment Yuuri is gone, he gets dressed and flees.

* * *

Yuuri hasn’t called Viktor since the rut. If Viktor were interested in him for more than his money, Yuuri figures, he wouldn’t have fled the apartment the instant Yuuri turned his back. Clearly the fact that he didn’t even stay long enough to finish dumping Yuuri suggests that Yuuri must have done something wrong. Or everything wrong.

So even though Yuuri is supposed to be getting ready to go to a charity dinner with his family, he’s on the floor scrubbing his baseboards with a toothbrush, like an HGTV parody of a normal human being.

He misses Viktor. He and Viktor had once gone into a furniture store and rated the comfort level of all the chairs. Being with Viktor is easy. Yuuri is twenty-seven years old and the most enjoyable relationship he’s had is this fake one with Viktor and Yuuri really wants it to be real.

Instead, here he is: his baseboards are clean, his heart is broken, and the tie he planned to wear tonight is the one Viktor gave him because the one Yuuri wore on their first date was, in Viktor’s words, ‘atrocious’. Yuuri wonders if Viktor would have ever shown him the contents of his sketchbook, if he knew that Yuuri has peeked over his shoulder and seen the designs for gowns and tuxedos within. He wonders if Viktor is ever going to ask for the nesting materials back, or if Yuuri is doomed to torment himself with them until he dies a gay pining death.

When the phone rings, Yuuri doesn’t even check who is it before answering.

“Viktor?”

“Yuuri?”

“Oh, Mari. Hi.”

“Who’s Viktor?”

“No one. How are you?”

“What did you do now?”

“What makes you think I did something?” How does she _always_ know?

“You never say ‘how are you.’ Spit it out.”

“You can’t tell Mom and Dad.”

“Would I snitch on you? Please. Bros before filial piety. Is Viktor your date for tonight?”

“What date?”

“You RSVPed plus one. Mom was thrilled.”

“I don’t have a date. I’m—I’m not dating.” Yuuri is telling the truth so why, he wonders, _do I always sound like I’m lying?_

“What, did he kill someone?”

“What? No!” All Viktor’s killed is Yuuri’s hopes and dreams, no big deal. “Why would I date a murderer?”

“Why else would you be scared to tell Mom and Dad? I mean, they gave birth to you, their standards aren’t that high.”

“We’re…not exactly dating anymore,” Yuuri hedges. Maybe Mari will take pity on him and change the subject.

“Tell me you didn’t get married on the sly. We agreed you and Phichit wouldn’t take any more business trips to Vegas.”

Yuuri resents that. It was one time. He only took off most of his clothes. And he wouldn’t take Viktor to Vegas to elope, he’d take him somewhere actually nice. If they were eloping, which they aren’t. Because their relationship was financial and now they don’t have one, which is exactly why Yuuri wants to be sure his family and Viktor never meet.

“Does he have an accent?”

“How did you—shut up!”

“Is he blond?” Mari snickers. “Don’t answer that, I already know. Look, Mom and Dad will understand, just tell them you thought eloping was romantic.”

“Right.”

“What’s he do?”

“He’s…a model. Or he was a model. He’s…between jobs.”

Mari says nothing, but Yuuri knows her well enough to hear all the accusations in her silence. _Little does she know,_ Yuuri thinks, _Viktor’s not a gold digger. I’m a…a gold…giver. Whatever the opposite of a gold digger is._

“It’s not what you think.”

“Okay.”

“He’s had some…health issues,” Yuuri lies. Words come out of his mouth like a car skidding on black ice on the highway: too fast and out of control. “That’s why we got married. For the insurance.”

“What health condition?”

“It’s—” Yuuri scrambles. “Omega…pattern…baldness.”

“…seriously?” Mari sighs. “Well, see you in a bit.”

“Sure,” Yuuri says. Is it too late to fake an illness? Or fake a kidnapping? Or fake his own death? Because if he shows up at the dinner without a date, he’ll have to explain all the nonsense that just came out of his mouth. If he actually asks Viktor to come, Viktor will refuse at best and kill him for real at worst.

_Well,_ Yuuri thinks miserably, _if I’m dead I won’t have to lie to my mom._

* * *

“Okay, so I really need your help.”

Viktor very nearly tells Yuuri to fuck off. It’s seven in the evening and Viktor hasn’t been able to eat all day, because he spent the morning throwing up and the afternoon being repulsed by the smell of bananas in the kitchen. He’s been lying on the sofa with Makkachin on top of him, wallowing, waiting for Georgi or Chris to come back so he can convince them to bring him food.

He’s wearing sweatpants. His hair is messy. Makkachin has drooled on him. He looks like he’s been wallowing in self-pity, which is true, but there’s no need for Yuuri to know that. Ideally Viktor would have answered the door dressed in a stunning ensemble and Yuuri would have gaped soundlessly at him as Viktor swept by like the motherfucking Queen of England, thereby leaving Yuuri to regret breaking up with him for the rest of his life.

But reality is rarely ideal, so here Viktor is. Yuuri is standing at his front door in a crisp dark suit and the tie Viktor made him. He looks fine.

“What?”

“It’s—can I come in?”

Viktor closes his eyes. He can’t throw Yuuri out yet, not until he’s told him. “Fine.”

Yuuri peers at him, too closely for Viktor’s liking, as they sit down on the secondhand sofa in the living room. Makkachin immediately comes up to Yuuri to demand petting. Traitor, Viktor thinks.

“Are you okay? You look kind of green.”

“What did you want?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri blushes all the way up to his ears. He plays with his tie; Viktor reaches out to stop him without thinking.

“You’ll ruin it,” he mutters.

“I need you to be my date at a charity dinner tonight.”

“You can’t ask someone else?”

“No.” Yuuri shuffles down the couch, away from Viktor. “I told my parents I was bringing you.”

“Why?” Viktor sucks in a deep breath, and hates that Yuuri’s scent immediately makes him feel less nauseous. It’s pointless for him to be angry now. They’re going to have to get along for the next eighteen years and eight months, even if Yuuri is a mealy-mouthed coward. “If you can give me half an hour,” he says, hand pressed over his stomach—there’s nothing there yet but he still keeps doing it—”I can come.”

* * *

The annual charity dinner is held by Yuuri’s parents at their flagship hotel, the Grand Prix. It is a sparkling event where the guests are half generous philanthropists and half representatives of charitable causes his parents support. There’s networking. There’s a very lavish dinner. His family’s good name is on the line.

Yuuri tries to avoid it every year without fail, citing an allergy to networking and arguing that he’s already a disgrace to the family name. He has never, ever been successful, and so every year he endures having to talk to all his parent’s old friends, who want to ask him ‘what are you doing with your life?’ and ‘why don’t you work for your parents like a good son?’ and ‘why aren’t you married with children?’ Networking is a trial to Yuuri, too; he’s good at talking about his work, but not very good at selling himself.

He’s never brought Viktor to a work event before. Because he wanted to avoid having to answer any questions about their relationship. So now, of course, Yuuri realizes, he’s going to have to face the third degree from Mari and his parents.

“Who exactly is going to be here?” Viktor asks.

“Just some family friends, my parent’s business associates, representatives from charities. Why?”

“I’d like to avoid running into anyone I know.”

“Why—” _Right,_ Yuuri thinks, _that would be awkward._ “I’ll…keep a look out.”

They’re running late, and so there’s no wait to get into the hotel; Yuuri hands off his car keys to the valet. He and Viktor hand off their coats to a bellhop.

Viktor’s coat is near floor-length, which explains why Yuuri didn’t realize until now that he’s wearing a very pale pink suit, a yellow shirt, and a powder blue tie that looks suspiciously familiar. He looks like a gender reveal party thrown by someone who doesn’t believe in gender reveal parties.

“Did you steal my tie?”

“I was doing you a favor.”

“Why are you wearing it?”

In lieu of answering, Viktor smiles and links his arms with Yuuri’s. He’s suddenly very close. “Try and look pleased,” Viktor says. “Normally people at parties with their boyfriends aren’t miserable.”

Yuuri gulps. He drags down the hall to the back entrance to the ballroom. He figures that if they sneak in, hide in a corner until dinner, and then mysteriously disappear before all the after-dinner socializing, it will be fine and they won’t have to speak to anyone.

The good news is that Yuuri is right: everyone is wandering around with plates of appetizers and glasses of sparkling water, so no one sees them come in late. The bad news is that the table with all the little placards with guest names and table numbers is by the front entrance, all the way on the other side of the ballroom. There goes Yuuri’s plan to hide in a corner until dinner—though considering the way this evening has gone so far, Yuuri doesn’t even know why he bothered to plan anything. He’s at a party with his ex-sugar baby as his fake husband because he’s so bad at human interaction that his sister automatically assumed he was lying. Yuuri should just give up on planning and die.

“Just look straight ahead and maybe we can make it without anyone trying to talk to us,” Yuuri whispers.

“This is a party, Yuuri, not a multilevel marketing convention. They’re not going to attack us.”

“Speak for yourself.”

They start powerwalking across the ballroom. At least, Yuuri is powerwalking. Viktor is scrolling along and making eye contact with strangers. Maybe they’ll be scared off by the explosions of pastels happening all over his body.

“Yuuri! There you are.” A friend of Yuuri’s mother is coming in for the kill. Yuuri doesn’t remember her name; Yuuri is not great with names in general and has taken to referring to people he doesn’t know with descriptions instead.

_Oh, great,_ he thinks. _It’s Uneven Fake Eyebrow Lady._ Uneven Fake Eyebrow Lady had accosted Yuuri last year, too, mostly to suggest to him that he date one of her three sons. She had had wallet photos of them as children to show him. It had taken him an entire five minutes to come up with an excuse to flee.

“Your mother was just telling me about the Triumphant,” she says. “The reviews are just raving. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Yuuri nods. “Uh, this is Viktor, my date for tonight.”

“Oh, so you’re Yuuri’s young man? How nice. Brad and Tad were so disappointed when they heard—but that’s love!”

“I can’t blame them,” Viktor says. He squeezes Yuuri’s arm; Yuuri feels Viktor rub the inside of his wrist against Yuuri’s sleeve. Did he just…? No, clearly Yuuri is imagining it. There’s no reason for Viktor to be jealous.

“Wow.” When they heard? How has anyone heard anything? “Yeah, so we actually have to grab our placards—sorry—see you later.”

They’re almost a quarter of the way there. Yuuri keeps walking, as fast as he can with Viktor being dragged behind him. He can see the table with placards; there are only two left. Just in case everyone didn’t know he and Viktor were late.

Viktor lowers his mouth to Yuuri’s ear. “They make stencils, you know,” he whispers. “For eyebrows.”

Yuuri has to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing out loud.

“Yuuri!”

“No,” Yuuri says. It’s Ciao Ciao, Yuuri’s favorite professor, who Yuuri hasn’t spoken to in eight months. Celestino Cialdini had recommended Yuuri for a job; the guy who had hired Yuuri had been an extremely controlling and nitpicky British dude who wanted the entire hotel to look like a Ferrari. He’d insisted on bathtubs in living spaces. Yuuri had quit, but he’d been too embarrassed to admit that to Cialdini.

“Oh, hi!” Viktor says loudly. He stops, forcing Yuuri to either stop with him or pick Viktor up and carry him. “Yuuri, look, isn’t that one of your professors?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You shouldn’t have invited me if you were too embarrassed to introduce me to anyone.”

“It’s not you, it’s me!”

“Sure, that’s what they all say,” Viktor says.

He shakes Cialdini’s hand enthusiastically.

“Don’t mind Yuuri,” Viktor says cheerfully. He pulls Yuuri close so that their shoulders are touching. “He’s embarrassed that we’re late, but it was my fault—I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

“Ah, that’s just like Yuuri.” Cialdini holds out a hand for Yuuri to shake. Yuuri can only hope his hands aren’t as clammy as he thinks they are. “How are you? I saw your work at the Triumphant, it’s beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Yuuri swallows. “Listen, about Mr. Bottomly—”

“You really dodged a bullet. I made the mistake of staying there; the only shower in my room was in the bedroom. The whole place smelled like wet carpet.”

“I warned him about that.”

“What if you’re sharing the room with someone you don’t want to see you naked?” Viktor asks.

“No idea, it was a glass shower with no curtains.”

Despite himself, Yuuri snorts.

“Well, I have some work that might interest you.”

“Oh, that’s ok—”

“He’d be delighted,” Viktor says loudly.

“Yeah. Thanks, Dr. Cialdini.”

“Oh, lighten up, Yuuri. You graduated! Call me Celestino. And congratulations,” he adds, nodding at Viktor.

“Okay,” Yuuri says. He hopes Celestino never finds out the entire class referred to him as Ciao Ciao behind his back. Celestino claps him on the shoulder, shakes Viktor’s hand again, and walks away. Yuuri breathes a sigh of relief; _that was so much better than I thought it would be,_ he thinks. _I should bring Viktor every year._

Of course, that will never happen.

Yuuri is suddenly aware of how close Viktor is standing. He can smell Viktor’s scent, which seems stronger than usual; Viktor’s arm is still locked tightly around his. _Am I crazy or does he kind of smell like me?_ Viktor is staring off into space, a polite smile frozen onto his face. He’s acted perfectly normal this whole time. _But he would,_ Yuuri thinks; _he acted like he cared about me. And that wasn’t real, either…_

“What was he congratulating us for?” Viktor asks.

“It’s almost time for dinner,” Yuuri says. He hasn’t even seen Mari yet, and they won’t be seated together at dinner. Yuuri might even get out of next year’s dinner if he fakes being heartbroken over his divorce, and he’ll only be lying about the divorce bit. “We should get our cards.”

At least having to make conversation at dinner will be a distraction. And he can talk to Viktor as much as he wants and no one will think anything of it.

“Okay.” Viktor leans in. “Look very interested in what I’m saying.”

“Why?”  
  


“No one is going to interrupt a couple in love.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says. Viktor’s face is right there. He swallows. “Good idea.”

Their placards both read table two.

Of course, five minutes later the staff start bringing the tables in. There is no table two. Yuuri wonders if this means he can leave, and is opening his mouth to offer to take Viktor home when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Over here,” Mari says. “We’re all sitting together today.”

All of them are never seated together. It’s always been that way: Yuuri’s parents split up so that they can each entertain separate guests, Mari takes a table of her own, and Yuuri is assigned a table with whoever his parents think Yuuri will hate sitting with least. But tonight his mother, his sister, Viktor, and himself are seated together. At a private table. With no one to act as a buffer.

“Where’s Dad?” Yuuri croaks.

“He drew the short straw, he has to be a good host,” Mari says.

“We should all be good hosts,” Yuuri says weakly.

“I’m sure everyone will understand,” Hiroko says. “And of course we wanted to meet Vicchan privately.”

_Vicchan?! She’s giving him a nickname already? She’s giving him the same nickname she gave my dog?_

Yuuri wonders if there’s some kind of support group for people like him, who just keep falling metaphorically onto their faces at the worst possible time. _Hi, I’m Yuuri, and I’m addicted to setting my life on fire and watching it burn._

* * *

“Welcome,” Hiroko says. She hugs Viktor tightly, and without thinking, he hugs her back. “It’s wonderful to have you as part of the family.”

“Yeah,” Mari says. Viktor smiles. He’s surprised Yuuri’s family is this enthusiastic about him. Maybe they’re just glad he’s no longer single; Viktor’s never been able to understand how someone like Yuuri, with thighs like concrete and a quiet way of putting Viktor at ease, is not already married with several dogs and/or children. “We would have invited you over somewhere quieter first, but Yuuri only told us he was married today.”

_He…told her what?_

“Aha,” Yuuri says sheepishly. His eyes are wide; whether he’s begging Viktor to play along or to refrain from strangling with his own ugly blue tie, Viktor has no idea. “Sorry…sweetheart…I had to tell them.”

“I thought we were keeping it quiet,” Viktor says. His voice sounds perfectly normal, possibly because he’s talking on autopilot while he panics internally.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Yuuri mumbles.

How anyone can misunderstand their way into marriage, Viktor has no idea. Viktor’s never managed to misunderstand his way into anything more than picking up the wrong order when he uses the Starbucks app to order. Suddenly everything about this dinner—the warm greetings from the Katsukis, the congratulations from strangers, Yuuri’s horrified expression when he saw the pastel monstrosity Viktor is wearing—makes perfect sense. _How dare you,_ Viktor thinks, _how dare you break my heart, knock me up, and then demand that I lie to your family so you can look good?_ Viktor has any number of polite, innocuous things he could say.

“Yes, we wanted to invite people,” Viktor says, “but Georgi doesn’t allow guests at his ceremonies. He says too many auras cloud his inner eye.”

“Oh,” Mari says. She glances at her mother, than at Yuuri. “Where did you get married? Yuuri didn’t say.”

Yuuri kicks him under the table, but spite is stronger than pain.

“My friend Georgi officiated it, of course,” Viktor says. He smiles widely, imagining Yuuri trying to explain this to his parents later. “He conducts mating rituals in a field behind the abandoned Costco. But only on Wednesdays that are on the full moon.”

“How…nice,” Hiroko says. She even sounds like she means it. “Let’s sit down, they’re taking our orders now.”

The waiter comes by as soon as they’re all seated—Viktor is sure to take a seat across from Hiroko, so that he can look her in the eye—and hands out glasses of champagne and the menu. Viktor takes the glass and has it halfway to his lips before he remembers he’s not allowed to drink at the moment. He puts it back on the table and eyes it longingly; he could use it.

Yuuri doesn’t have an occupied uterus and immediately downs a glass in one shot before taking a second one.

“Did you just make all that up to fuck with me?” he whispers.

Viktor lays his hand over Yuuri’s on the table. “Of course not,” he says. “I understand you wanted to tell your family.”

“Right.”

(All of it is true, except for the part about Georgi not allowing guests. Georgi’s even registered as an actual officiant. Viktor’s pretty sure he drunkenly promised to let Georgi marry him; he’s going to consider the obligation met as of now.)

The menu is a minefield, as most of it contains either something Viktor’s supposed to be avoiding or something he’s discovered he can’t eat any more because it makes him instantly ill. _No seafood,_ Viktor thinks, _no alcohol, no rare beef, no possibly contaminated lettuce, and I tried eating cheese yesterday and had to throw it out before the smell made me sick._

“Are there any vegan options?” Viktor asks.

“I don’t think so,” Hiroko says, “I didn’t know you were a vegan, Vicchan, and none of the other guests are. But I’m sure they can make you something else.”

“…when did you become a vegan?” Yuuri asks. He is understandably confused, since he has spent a lot of money on feeding Viktor expensive and nonvegan foods.

“I’ve always been a vegan. How could you forget that?”

“I was…joking.”

Hiroko is looking oddly at them both. Viktor smiles at her again, hoping she’s not angry with him yet; it’s not her fault her son is terrible, and he can’t be angry at her for trying to be welcoming. It’s Yuuri’s fault, anyways, for not waiting to break up with Viktor until he was clothed.

“So, what do you do?” Mari asks.

“Viktor’s studying to be a fashion designer,” Yuuri says immediately. Viktor, in the process of unrolling his napkin, nearly stabs himself in the hand with the steak knife. How did Yuuri even know that? Viktor’s never even mentioned it to him. “He made this tie for me.”

“Huh. I wondered why you looked decent today.”

“Yuuri’s too modest,” Viktor says. “He’s always saying it doesn’t matter what he wears, but I think that if he’s going to attract clients he should dress like he’s successful.”

“I want my work to speak for itself,” Yuuri protests. There’s not much heat to it; they’ve had this discussion before. “Anyways, it’s not that bad. You’re wearing my tie right now.”

“Yuuri wore this tie on our first date and now it’s my lucky charm.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “You hate that tie.”

“That’s why it’s lucky. Now that I have it, you can’t wear it.”

The conversation turns to Yuuri’s work, which animates Yuuri enough for him to carry the conversation. _He’s obviously close to his family,_ Viktor thinks wistfully. Viktor doesn’t have any family—or rather, he didn’t have any, he realizes. Now there’s the baby.

Yuuri is telling his parents about Celestino and the poorly placed shower when the food arrives. Three of the plates are steaming, with elegantly constructed food that smells divine. The fourth plate is Viktor’s; it contains a dome of white rice and some steamed vegetables. Viktor is starving, so despite the mouth-watering smell of Yuuri’s lobster, he takes a bite.

Only a deep desire to maintain his dignity stops Viktor from vomiting instantly.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks. Clearly Viktor’s dignity is not as intact as he had hoped. Yuuri puts a hand on his forehead. “I can take you home if you want.”

_You’re not getting off that easily,_ Viktor thinks. He gets up. “Excuse me,” he says; the smell of bellpepper is suddenly repulsive. “I’ll be right back.”

* * *

The whole thing is actually Yuuri’s fault.

Yuuri’s the one who didn’t have the guts to just ask Viktor out like a normal person on their first date. Yuuri’s the one who made the mistake of pushing Viktor for something he didn’t want to give. Yuuri’s the disaster who keeps lying his way into trouble. And Yuuri’s the one who owes it to Viktor to take him home, lose his number, and take the fall for being a liar from everyone he knows.

(He can’t even blame it on champagne. Yuuri’s been scrupulously sober since The Wallet Incident.)

“I have to go,” Yuuri says.

His mother pats his hand. “How far along is he?”

“W-what?”

_Oh,_ Yuuri thinks. _So that’s why he’s a vegan._

Viktor isn’t in the omega bathroom, though Yuuri finds his jacket and tie left crumpled by the sink. Yuuri checks the alpha bathroom, too, and the conference room, and every corner of the lobby, but Viktor is nowhere to be found. Outside the Grand Prix, it’s cold; Yuuri shivers as the doors close behind him. There’s nothing out here but the parking lot, Yuuri thinks; it’s possible Viktor called a cab and has left. The valet denies having seen him. Above, neither the moon or stars are visible behind a blanket of pitch-dark clouds.

_Looks like snow,_ Yuuri thinks.

“Viktor?” As Yuuri circles the hotel, he finds the outdoor seating area for the restaurant. It’s deserted, with most of the chairs and tables stacked up; the fountain in the center is dry.

Viktor is sitting on the edge of its stone basin, glaring at the cherub statues on top of it.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, it’s you,” Viktor says. Despite the cold, Yuuri can see the bright flush of a scent gland on his neck, and can smell him. He inhales, despite himself; he’s tried very hard not to notice that Viktor generally smells good, as if denying it will somehow make it less true.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Yes, I’m pregnant,” Viktor repeats. His face is wet. “No, I’m not okay, I—you impregnated me.”

“It was an accident!”

“Tell it to the fetus I’m incubating!”

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri sits down beside Viktor on the fountain’s edge; suddenly thinking requires all his energy, leaving nothing for his legs. “How?”

Viktor stares flatly at him.

“…right, I just meant…never mind.” No wonder Viktor smells so good; he’s picked up some of Yuuri’s scent, as if they’re a mated couple. No wonder his mom bought their lies. “Let’s go inside.”

“I’m not going back in there.”

“It’s freezing out here,” Yuuri says. Viktor stares at him, his expression like stone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You broke up with me, what was I supposed to do?”

“I—you broke up with me!”

“You couldn’t even wait until I was dressed—”

“You’re the one who ran away as soon as my back was turned!”

“You couldn’t even be professional about it!” Viktor snaps. He crosses his arms over his chest; a few snowflakes have appeared in his hair.

“Professional about—” Yuuri flushes angrily. Even if Viktor doesn’t return his feelings, that’s no reason to throw them in Yuuri’s face like this. “How am I supposed to be professional about being in love with you?”

“Usually you give someone notice before you— _what?”_

“I’m sorry but I can’t help it if I have feelings—mmph!”

Yuuri’s changing his mind. Viktor is welcome to throw his feelings in Yuuri’s face if his method is going to involve tongue. Holding Viktor is like hugging an ice sculpture; Yuuri is shivering by the time they break apart for air. He looks up at the sky; the softly falling snow looks like stars.

“Hey,” Yuuri asks, finally. He rubs the inside of his wrist against Viktor’s neck. “Do you need a boyfriend?”

“Sorry,” Viktor says. He’s smiling; he leans into Yuuri’s hand. “I think I already have one.”

* * *

“Wait, you’re getting married again?”

Yuuri stares determinedly at the wall. Beside him, he can hear Viktor trying not to laugh.

“Sort of.”

“Are you going to have an actual ceremony this time?”

“It’s more like a reception.”

“…is that Elvis in the background?”

“You said I couldn’t go to Vegas with Phichit,” Yuuri says. “Look, can you tell Mom and Dad I’m sorry I had to elope? I didn’t want to have to explain to them that we were never actually married.”

“Why am _I_ telling them this?” Mari asks, but it’s too late; Yuuri is already frantically hitting end call and throwing the phone onto the table.

Viktor is nursing the baby now; she’s dressed in a pink and yellow onesie. A blue tie has been stitched onto the front. She looks like an Easter egg.

“It came out well, didn’t it?” Viktor’s been making baby clothes for the past year. He’s probably overdone it, but that’s fine; at some point he’s going to want to go back to school, and it’ll be something to put in his portfolio. Even if he did insist on appropriating all Yuuri’s ‘ugly’ clothing for material. “Who are you texting?”

“Cao Bin,” Yuuri replies. “I owe him, so I just sent him a bottle of champagne…”

**Author's Note:**

> stay safe out there, y'all


End file.
